


Upon Us All A Little Rain Must Fall

by Darnaguen



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VI: Return of the Jedi, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types
Genre: Dancing in the Rain, Drabble, Ficlet, Gen, Sibling Bonding, Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-18 01:12:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9357962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darnaguen/pseuds/Darnaguen
Summary: A drabble prompt for words Tarantism + Petrichor. Decided to go with our favourite space twins.(Partially inspired by what Mark Hamill said about having always wanted to find ways to make Carrie laugh.)





	

–

On the third morning after the victory celebration, weary groups of rebels tread the soggy footpaths amidst the lush foliage and ancient Redwood trees.

The Emperor is dead, the Death Star is gone, but she knows the war is not over yet.

Luke has fallen into step beside her, sharing her thoughtful silence.  
Silence with Luke has never felt oppressive or awkward to her (and now she understands why), but sometimes… Sometimes she wonders who this quiet, solemn stranger is, and when did he replace the excitable, sweet-natured farm boy her heart had loved on sight.

She has changed too, of course. Changed and grown. They’re no longer nineteen (strange how the lines between _‘I’_ and _‘we’_ have started to blur in her mind) and they’ve been living the war for years now.  
  
She’s no longer the Princess of Alderaan, playing at rebellion. She’s carrying a legacy that at times makes her feel much older than her twenty-three standard years. She imagines he might feel the same, and then some.

( _“You have that power too,”_ he had said. And maybe she does. But even now, with mud on his boots and dried needles in his hair, her brother seems to occupy a different plane of existence, exuding quiet power she doesn’t think she will ever quite understand.) 

So much has changed.

*

The mid-morning light filters through the mist and dances on the path, the geejaws cry high above. She closes her eyes and for a fraction of a moment, she is home again, in the wooded foothills of her childhood. She exhales and shakes her head, willing the unwelcome tears away.

“What’s wrong?”

His voice is gentle, but he has stopped in his tracks and dropped his backpack: a silent challenge to keep pretending when he knows better. Sometimes she hates it. Now she’s only grateful.

She spins to face him and drops her messenger bag with a huff. Drops her shoulders too, and her gaze.

“Do you ever… Does it ever feel unfair to you? And don’t even _start_ about the Force. Just… don’t.”

He chuckles and steps closer, taking both of her hands in his.

“All the time.”

She looks up and he’s grinning at her, no longer the solemn stranger. Oddly relieved, she drops her forehead against his chest. 

“Moon jockey,” she mumbles and lifts her head again when she feels the first raindrops on the back of her neck.

He laughs quietly, face turned upwards, enjoying the rain like only a child of the desert can. 

“And ‘son of a bantha’, yes. I think 'nerf herder’ is reserved for Han, though.”

She play-punches him lightly in the arm and he makes a move as if to dodge - but spins her around and dips her instead in a maneuver more suited for fancy dance halls on Coruscant than a muddy forest moon somewhere in the Outer Rim.

“I think the ewoks have the right idea,” he muses with a smile when she’s giggling helplessly at the sheer absurdity of… _everything_.

“Sometimes all you can do is dance.”

–


End file.
